


Omertà

by djdaddybek (llyn)



Series: Otayuri Mafia AU [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Birthday, Daddy Kink, Kawaiilo Ren, Kitten, M/M, Mafia AU, Mutual Pining, Pet Names, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:06:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llyn/pseuds/djdaddybek
Summary: “But--” Yuri’s eyes well up. “You didn’t even get me a present,” he whines, blinking up wet eyed and accusing in the disco light. Otabek didn’t give him anything for his birthday, it’s true. He’d bought the kitten a small ransom in presents but realized, staring at the glittering pile like a cache of sunken treasure in the corner of his dingy flat, he couldn’t give these things to Yuri. Every jewel shouted the truth.





	Omertà

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaitealyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitealyn/gifts).



> based on [kawaillo-ren's mafia au](http://kawaiilo-ren.tumblr.com)
> 
> happy birthday kaitlyn!

Set in the center of the club, the vip section rises up from the dancefloor like a three-tiered wedding cake: black icing, black trim, sprinkled with birthday guests in their tightest black clothes. There's a lot to see tonight--fizzing fountains, dueling djs, melting ice sculptures, half-dressed kittens grinding under the disco balls, a stray paparazzo thrown over a bouncer’s shoulder, still snapping pictures as they head toward the door. But Otabek keeps his eyes up as he weaves through the crowd, up to where Yuri pouts on a velvet couch, alone on the top tier of the cake like a lonely little groom, champagne bottles spilled all around him. Every time a stray laser from the dance floor hits his outfit he shines back bright in the dark like a raw rare diamond in a mine. Hard to describe what he’s wearing tonight. It may not have a name yet. 

Otabek pushes his way to the cake, Anton lifting the ropes with a nod. He walks up the spiral stairs, passing the first tier, where a swarm of sophistos pose with thin cigarettes, playing see-and-be-seen. No doubt these are the folks getting fattened up by Yakov for the kill. Yes, one night behind the silly purple ropes to win their loyalty. Then it'll be Yakov’s turn to ask for a favor. Their high peals of laughter make his finger twitch instinctively. This isn’t their crowd--too bourgie, too straight, too much of Yakov's heavy hand in the guest list--maybe that’s why the kitten’s slim shoulders are heaving up there on his throne. He’d probably wanted to go to their usual dives and dungeons, maybe get something greasy to eat and go for a winding drive up the back roads. There’d been that night they’d lost track of time and ended up as far as Lake Ilmen, just a fishing shack and nothing else as far as they could see, and the way Yuri had looked, in the dawn, in the wind, so far away from everything--

He nods to Alexander, who lets him through the next set of ropes. He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about this stuff. Yuri never got to choose what to do for his birthday. He’d never even brought it up. 

Club Ice Tiger’s not just named after Yuri--it’s for him: one of his many birthday presents, this one from Chris. It’s a brand new playground with a leopard print theme. It’s a perfect place to keep an eye on him, to keep him safe for Nikolai. It’s a cage for the tiger, and maybe Yuri knows. Maybe that’s why he’s crying. 

The second tier of the vip section is full of the young family--the older set having crossed their hearts and hoped to die at the thought of this music, this purple black bruise of a place, the silver thing Yuri is wearing, belly-button exposed. On his way down Otabek had felt the need to storm past his colleagues with a glare, but coming back up he can see he shouldn't of bothered. They're too wasted to notice. Mila and Sara have got their hair pieces caught together trying to Lady and the Tramp a line of coke. No one is helping. Everyone is laughing. JJ’s holding court in a corner, smiling too wide at Otabek when he walks by. Even when he knows nothing, JJ’s got a way of looking like he knows too much. The kitten hasn’t been subtle tonight either, but Otabek had checked the mirror in the bathroom and wiped the pink gloss off his neck, his jaw, his collar, his cheek. JJ’s got nothing.

Andre lets him through the last set of ropes just as Chris is coming down, winking at Otabek and drawling, “Just tragic, really.” His hand slides over Otabek's chest and then he's gone around the bend. 

Up the last curl of steps is the little monster himself, drooping off the very corner of his fancy black couch with its gold and silver tiger-striped legs. The velvet cushion is so soaked through with champagne when Otabek sits down that he’s forced to move closer. 

Yuri lifts his head, brushing his hair back from his face with a hand. His rings catch the tangles in his long, loose hair so it doesn’t go so smooth for him, but after a moment there he is. Green eyes, scrunched up nose, pink lips, stubborn chin, red, wet cheeks, his thick diamond choker lighting up red, blue, green as the lasers sweep by. So many tears, but he tries a smile for Beka, bottom lip wobbling. Otabek’s hand wobbles, too, fumbling for a cigarette all at once and desperately. “Did you spill all your bottles?” he asks, flicking his lighter too hard. Flame flame flame, it can’t come quickly enough. 

Yuri laughs darkly and pushes a empty one with his stockinged foot, sending it rolling off the ledge to crash on the tier below. “Chris brought more,” Yuri says, lifting his other hand from over the couch to reveal a full bottle. Always happy to help, that Chris. Otabek grits his teeth. “Don’t be mad,” Yuri says, slipping his hand up to brush Otabek’s jaw, but Otabek catches it. Hands it back to him. “At least Chris understands,” this is said with a huff and lemon twist of the re-glossed pink lips, and Otabek knows better than to take the bait, but-- 

“Understands what?” he asks. The other thing about this big cake full of very important people is that, clever as anything, it rotates. This seems designed to maximize Otabek’s paranoia, turning the young heir into first prize at a shooting gallery. He’s not technically guarding Yuri tonight, he's supposed to be a guest, but he can't help but scan the crowd. It keeps him from staring at Yuri, if nothing else--eyes finding instead the odd characters caught in the strobes--the big hat, the lopsided frown, the lady with the feather, the loner leaning back against the pillar, who--it turns out as the cake turns another degree--is just busy getting head. 

Then Yuri looks up at Otabek with those fairy tale eyes to say, so deadly serious, “I thought we were gonna fuck tonight, Beka.” 

Otabek almost laughs. The  _ mouth _ on him. “Why would we--why would that happen?” Otabek says, hyper-conscious of Andre on the stairs, of JJ one tier below, picking broken champagne glass out of his shoes, no doubt, with an ear piqued for a lull in the music, drifting voices, fatal gossip. 

“‘Cause it’s my birthday. I thought--”

“Doesn’t change anything, Yura,” Otabek tells him, stern. This kid seems to forget all the time they’ve never even kissed. Not really, anyway.

“But--” Yuri’s eyes well up. “You didn’t even get me a present,” he whines, blinking up wet eyed and accusing in the disco light. Otabek didn’t give him anything for his birthday, it’s true. He’d bought the kitten a small ransom in presents but realized, staring at the glittering pile like a cache of sunken treasure in the corner of his dingy flat, he couldn’t give these things to Yuri. Every jewel shouted the truth. 

“Yura--”

Yuri sniffles and paws at the mascara staining his cheeks, waiting for an explanation. But Otabek can’t find one. He can’t think straight, looking into those eyes. When it’s obvious he has nothing to say, Yuri huffs and looks out at the party. “It’s like you don’t even like me.”

“I like you,” Otabek says. 

“So kiss me, then,” Yuri says, grabbing his arm, little claws digging in. “Please, Beka? You’ll make me so h-appy,” he hiccups. 

“No.” Like he’s gonna get caught kissing this poor, wasted kitten. There’s three hundred pairs of eyes drawn up, up, to the glittering birthday boy on top of his cake. Otabek knows they’d love to see a fun show.

Yuri hiccups again and crosses his arms over his chest, throwing a long leg over the side of the couch. He was already drunk when Otabek showed up at the townhouse, but a happier drunk--sneaking his hands inside Otabek’s jacket on the ride over, resting his cheeks against Otabek’s back with a shivery sigh. That was before the night tipped, before Yuri whispered in Otabek’s ear in a singsong, “I’m eighteen now,” and didn’t get the answer back he wanted.  

“I’m so lonely,” Yuri says, forgetting his sulk to turn and hide his hot face against Otabek’s shoulder. 

“I’m here,” Otabek says, even as he untangles himself from Yuri’s arms again. He doesn't know why he says it. The kitten’s got him all twisted around with these tears.  

But Yuri just scoffs, pushing another bottle off the ledge with his foot, “Not really.” 

Otabek shrugs his shoulder, knocking Yuri away, “What do you want, Yura? You’re acting like I should fuck you in front of these vultures.” 

Yuri’s mouth works for a second, one pretty pale hand coming up to sink into his own hair, stunned, and Otabek feels the guilt right away. He’s not supposed to say these kind of things. Not ever. It turns the kitten's head. Otabek’s, too, if he’s honest. He’s not. “I’m--” Yuri says, and Otabek can watch his fizzy mind trying to think this through, fingers twirling a strand of hair around and around. “I’m not saying that. I just--I don’t wanna be here.” 

“Then what?”

“Take me to your place,” Yuri crawls a little finger spider up Otabek’s jacket. “I wanna see where you live.”

“No.” He bats Yuri’s hand away when he starts to tug at a button. 

“Fuck you, Beka.” Yuri drinks deep, growling when Otabek makes a dignified swipe for the bottle. “I could find someone to fuck me,” he says. “I’m gonna--” interrupting himself with a swig, “‘m gonna make you guard the door, too.”

“So go ahead,” Otabek says. What he’d give for a drink. Yuri doesn't know how lucky he is. At least he might forget this in the morning. Otabek's gonna remember every last poisoned twist of the kitten’s lips. “Knock yourself out.”

“No,” Yuri lifts his chin, his bluff called. “Take me home,” he demands. He pushes a fallen strap of his silver thing back up his glittery shoulder.    
  
“You’ll make Chris sad.” 

“It’s  _ my _ birthday.” 

Fair enough. Otabek shrugs, “Put on your boots, then. Or do you need my permission?” 

“Finally,” Yuri says. “Some fucking cooperation.” He crawls across Otabek's lap in the hunt for his boots, forcing Otabek to lift his hands up in a show of innocence for the gawking crowd. Yuri's shirt is more off than on and there was never much of it to begin with. His shorts are riding up his ass, one thigh high’s ripped, but he looks like an angel all the same when he comes up from under the couch smiling wide with his boots in his hand, sticky with champagne. It's another ordeal entirely to get them on. Yuri wants Otabek to do it, sticking his bottom lip out. Otabek wants Yuri to do it himself, glaring out at the crowd to keep from looking at that bottom lip. How Otabek ends up on his knee lacing up Yuri's boots is anyone's guess. 

Yuri’s the perfect haughty monster on the way out, storming past all his guests dry eyed and scowling as if he doesn’t know them--which is mostly true. But by the time Otabek pulls up to the townhouse he’s sniffling again, hiding his face when Otabek tries to brush away the wind-tangled hair stuck to his cheek. “Alright, kitten, up we go,” Otabek says, lifting him up in his arms, fingers in his soft hair to keep his head from nodding back. He’s carried the Yuri through the empty halls of his grandpa’s before, but never crying--kicking, shouting, unconscious, giggling, muddy, bloody, yes--but never, ever crying. There's nothing Otabek can do for him except set him down in his big bed, tugging Yuri’s arms gently from around his neck. The kitten's head falls back onto his pillows, pretty as a picture. Otabek's job is done. He should leave. 

He doesn’t move. He should go. He should’ve been gone, already. He still stands there, looking at Yuri. It’s hard to look away. 

“My boots,” Yuri says, then hiccups. “H-elp.”

Otabek helps. He unlaces Yuri’s boots and slips them off. He drags his thigh highs down his thighs, down his calves, off his pretty feet. He slides the rings off his fingers, the bracelets from his wrists, all while Yuri sniffles and hides his face in the pillow. 

“Hey,” Otabek says, catching his chin and, brushing his tangled hair back. “C’mon. It’s alright.” 

Yuri’s eyes well up, tears spilling, “No, it’s not. It won’t ever be.”

Otabek should leave. He brushes Yuri’s tears away with his thumb. “You’re having a bad night, Yura. It happens.” 

“My choker hurts,” Yuri whines, pawing at it. The jewels have rubbed his neck raw red, but when Otabek reaches behind Yuri’s head for the clasp, Yuri pushes up on his elbows, stealing a kiss. It only lasts a moment before Otabek jerks his head away. He doesn't have time to notice how he tastes like tears, or the softness of his lips, or the tickle of his eyelashes, cool and wet as a paintbrush against Otabek's cheeks. Yuri sniffles, sitting up. The heavy choker falls in his lap, and Yuri picks it up, frowning as he traces the diamonds, “Why won’t you kiss me?”

Otabek’s not going to argue with him. He knows better. “It’s a bad night,” he says again. “You’ll feel better tomorrow.” He hopes--whatever else Yuri remembers from tonight--he’ll remember that. This kind of thing happens to anybody. Nothing to be ashamed of. But even as he thinks it he knows it’ll be different for Yura. It’ll be the end of the world. 

“I know that you love me.” 

“Shhh, Yura,” Otabek says, ignoring the traitorous thump thump thump of his own heart. 

“I'm not dumb,” Yuri says. “And you're not good at hiding it.”

“I'm leaving,” Otabek says. He doesn’t move.

But Yuri drops the necklace with a gasp, “Beka, no!” He lurches forward to grab Otabek’s arm with both hands and tugs hard, pulling him down onto the bed. “Please don’t go,” he whines. He goes one step further, slipping onto Otabek’s lap with quick feline grace, trapping him. It happens too fast for Otabek to stop it. Then, all at once, it’s too late. 

“Didn't even get me a present,” Yuri murmurs, claws scratching over Otabek's undercut as he leans in close to plant little kisses on his jaw. Otabek's frozen, helpless, eyes slipping from the door, from escape, to the pretty boy in his lap. The prettiest boy. The drunkest, prettiest boy. “Don’t you want me?” Yuri breathes against his skin, lips smooth on Otabek's scratchy cheek, hand slipping down, down, down Otabek’s chest, down his stomach, lower, to toy with his belt. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Beka? Don’t you wanna teach me?” 

“You better stop,” Otabek warns him. 

Yuri smiles, “Or d’you want someone else to fuck me first? Who’s gonna teach me how to take a cock, Beka?”

“Kitten--” 

“Fuck me, please. I know you wanna be the first.” 

“Yura--”

“I know you’d like it. I know you want a little slut to train.” 

“Fuck--” Otabek pushes him onto his back without warning and bites down, hard, on the kitten’s tender neck. He can’t think of how else to shut his mouth.  

Yuri gasps and arches his back, hips rolling up to meet Otabek's as he grinds Yuri down into the mattress. Just a taste. That’s all the kitty’s gonna get. Just a taste of what he’s asking for, so he’ll think twice next time before teasing him. 

“ _ Yes _ , daddy,” Yuri hisses, hands sunk into his own glossy hair. “Take it. Anything you want.” 

“Shut up,” Otabek growls.

“I’ll make you so happy.” 

“Shut up, Yura,” Otabek tells him again, before grabbing his chin and smashing their lips together. Yuri’s eyes fly open, wide and green, then he’s moaning into Otabek’s mouth, lashes dropping closed. Otabek watches him through cracked eyes, greedy for every moment. Chewing the kitten’s bottom lip all he can think is this is the little brat’s fault. How much is he supposed to take, with Yuri rubbing up against him like a cat in heat? He pulls one of Yuri’s legs up, hooking it over his shoulder to let him feel what he’s done to Otabek next time he grinds the kitten’s slender hips down. He feels like he’s been hard for a year. Yuri’s already clawing at his pants, too excited to work a zipper. Otabek grabs both his delicate wrists and pins them to the bed. “Don’t fucking try it.”

“But, daddy--” 

“Don’t call me that,” Otabek snaps, but he can’t hide how much he likes it, either. It makes his heart pound. It makes him growl and bite the kitten’s lips. It makes him wrap his hands around the kitten’s little waist and squeeze as hard as he can, wishing it was his neck. 

“Mmf, daddy, it ‘urts,” Yuri whines, then he peeks up, one eye closed, to laugh when Otabek groans and hides his face in Yuri’s hair. “What’s wrong? Thought you liked it when kitties talk like this.” 

“That’s it,” Otabek says. He hooks an arm under Yuri’s back and picks him up off the mattress, throwing him back down on the bed on his hands and knees. “You’re gonna get spanked.” 

“What?” Yuri looks over his shoulder, eyes wide.

But Otabek doesn’t give him time to argue. He keeps the kitten in place with a hand twisted in his hair and spanks him until his hand stings, then switches hands. Eighteen on each side. Yuri moans between each spanking, sharp little gasps and breathless  _ daddy _ s. They should be quieter. Otabek doesn’t care. “Should’ve done this sooner,” he says.  “If I didn’t think it’d make your cunt all wet I would’ve.” 

“Beka!” 

Otabek grabs a handful of cheek and squeezes, leaning over Yuri to lick his hot, red ear. “You’re a spoiled little brat, kitten, and you didn’t get a present cause you don’t deserve one,” he hisses.  

“‘addy,” Yuri’s drooling, arms shaking as he presses his back up against Otabek’s chest, grinding his little ass back in time with Otabek’s thrusts. “I know I don’t deserve it, but  _ please _ . You’re all I want. I told you.” 

“No,” Otabek says. “You’re getting nothing, baby. Just like  _ I _ told  _ you _ .” It’s not easy to let Yuri go, to step away from the bed. But it’s the truth. The kitten’s wasted. The night ends now. 

Yuri turns, blinking, “Beka?”

“Time for bed,” he says, fixing his jacket, his belt, his hair, the buttons Yuri popped open with his little claws. Not licking the taste of him off his lips, though. He’ll do that later. 

“Wait--no! Stay with me,” Yuri begs. “Stay the night,” hands coming together in a prayer, “Please?” 

“I can’t.”

“Take me with you.” 

Otabek shakes his head no. 

“If you love me, Beka--” But Yuri doesn’t even finish the sentence. He knows it’s hopeless, too. He sulks, curling up on his side with a sigh, tugging at the red tassels of his pillow as if Otabek were already gone. He doesn’t cry this time.  

But still, Otabek lingers in the doorway. The  tassels Yuri curls around his finger match his little cheeks--angry red handprints on both and getting redder by the minute. But otherwise Yuri is safe in his big bed. It’s all he can do. If they get caught, that’s the end. He’ll understand in the morning. Yuri’s all grown up now. He'll understand. Otabek pulls the door shut behind him and doesn’t look back. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @commandantllyn
> 
> or on tumblr at [djdaddybek](http://djdaddybek.tumblr.com)


End file.
